


bag of bones

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: comfort.she told herself that every night was for comfort, nothing more.she never thought that the real reason would confront her about it.





	bag of bones

**Author's Note:**

> [♫](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvALY9TzINU)  

> 
>   
_Mercy on me, would you please spare me tonight?_
> 
> _I'm tired of this searching, would you let me let go?_
> 
>   
.
> 
> .
> 
> i was listening to mitski recently and bag of bones was the first song i heard by her and hearing it again just struck something in me and i felt a need to write this  
cw : foiled rape attempt, mentions of sexual/physical abuse

Moonlight softly caressed her figure in the night, highlighting her curves from where she sat. Not that she expected the man beneath her to care about such aesthetic, considering his incessant thrusting implied he was near finishing. Her hips ached — she knew how men were, always wanting to finish and leave as quickly as possible. It wasn't as though she wanted him to linger around, either, but he could at least act well mannered.

Hah. As if.

Only a few more seconds lasted before she raised herself up and off of him, his semen shooting against her thighs. After sleeping with so many guys, timing when one is at his limit was like a natural skill. Their breaths, albeit quiet, were the only thing that filled up the silence. Letting out one final huff through her nostrils, she crawled over him, towards the cloth she had reserved specifically for nights such as this one. She could tell his eyes were glued to her back, even if she wasn't facing him. They were all the same.

"Dorothea —"

"Don't. You know the rules."

Rules. Goddess, hearing herself say it was infuriating. Rules she had set up for herself and every man that might be considered to enter her quarters far after the sun had set. But ever since the war had started, and she no longer had to work for the attention she used to so desperately crave, this was the only way to keep it in check. Sure, there was the alternative to spend every night alone, but . . . it was suffocating. 

"Dorothea. Look at me."

She finished wiping away the remnants of him, and grabbed the robe that was carefully draped over her desk chair. A present from Petra, made of Brigid's finest silk. The comfortability of it didn't lie. Although, even that couldn't distract her from the man her back remained turned to, who was waiting for some sort of reply. Might as well give him one.

"Get out."

Wasn't a good one.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You broke the rules, so now it's time for you to go. Get out."

"You can't treat me like a piece of meat —"

"Are you implying that isn't what you just did to me?"

Silence. So she was right. Of course she was, she knew she was. To think there might be any other reason would be ludicrous. None of the men knew a single thing about Dorothea other than how she looked when disrobed. They had no right to claim love for her, no right to stay the night. He must've thought otherwise.

His hand grabbed her wrist (when had he stood up?), pulling her into his chest. This neediness wasn't uncommon, and she pushed him away, putting a mere few inches of distance between them. She hated having such a small room, but it couldn't be helped. It didn't give her the option to move further away when he cornered her against her desk, hands hitting the hardwood and trapping her between his arms.

"We're not done here. We're not!"

Everything began to escalate from there, his hand pulling at her robe, her shouts at him to stop and pushing back at him, warning that if he didn't leave she wouldn't hesitate to get dirty, even if it caused partial destruction to her room —

"Dorothea! Are you alright?!"

They both stopped for a moment, heads turning towards the door. A voice, other than their own. Someone had heard. Then, there was a hand covering her mouth, and she didn't have the chance to fight back, her arms pulled behind her back. Through the hand, she whimpered, but it definitely wasn't loud enough for the spectator on the other side of the door to hear. He had pushed her up against the desk, and she could feel him pressing up against her back.

"Just be a good girl and keep quiet, okay?"

She closed her eyes, refusing to let the tears spill. Not again. She refused to be vulnerable in this moment. She would be strong and endure it. It wasn't common, but not so uncommon that she was unprepared. In these times, things like this just happened. It would be over soon, she told herself.

That's when the door was suddenly falling in, a slight crack and indent in the middle. Its direction was aimed towards the man, who moved back, trying to avoid it as best as he could. Dorothea's hands instinctively reached for the robe, covering her exposed skin so that whoever had just kicked in the door wouldn't see her in such a state. Emerald eyes met a pale green, reminiscent of fading grass. Ah, so it was Ingrid.

The knight didn't hesitate to move the door aside, revealing the man. His expression went from outraged to terrified, knowing exactly who he was now face-to-face with. She grabbed him by the neck, pulling him to the doorway before tossing him out. Next came his clothes, gathered in a swift moment before being thrown at him. The way that Ingrid's face contorted with anger made Dorothea, ironically enough, feel safe. Yet, it also brought her unbearable shame.

"Get out of here. Right now. Or you'll be suffering from more than shame and a bruised neck."

Like a cowering rabbit that had barely escaped a wolf, the man desperately ran off, disappearing around a corner that lead to the pond. Wherever he would hide away didn't quite matter. He was gone, and that was that. There was a sigh, one that had fallen from Ingrid's lips. It was clear that she had been roaming around when she heard the commotion, as her clothes were not fit to be considered sleeping wear. Also, her room was on the second floor, too far for any night affairs from below to be heard.

Dorothea inhaled, exhaled. There was an apology at the back of her throat, one for bothering Ingrid this late. But it felt wrong to say. Was it really her fault? She didn't typically question her choice in words, confident in every beat, but facing a concerned Ingrid made her think otherwise. The war really had changed things, including her very own mindset.

“Are you okay?”

No words were said, only a small noise of an attempted reply. Something that came from the back of her throat, returning just as soon as it left. With a look of understanding in her eyes, Ingrid dropped it, her gaze falling upon the door that was clumsily resting on the bed. Another sigh, and she picked it up. The sleeves of her linen shirt raised, revealing her toned arms, attracting Dorothea’s eyes. Most had to admit, Ingrid was quite the spectacle.

“Sorry about the door . . . when you didn’t reply after all of that noise, I couldn’t help but think that something had gone wrong. It was almost instinctive to kick in the door. This one isn’t exactly beyond repair, but I don’t think it’ll do for the rest of the night.”

It was true. Even if they managed to straighten it out without actually breaking it in half, the cold would slip in through the crack. Dorothea wasn’t particularly sensitive, but despite the years that had passed since those old times, she still preferred living in a warm room. Keeping her hands at the edges of the robe to make sure it didn’t fall open, she approached, looking at the door. A giggle began to rise, peeping through her closed lips.

“Please, Ingrid, don’t worry about it. I can just stay in one of the vacant rooms for the night.”

It was still hard to believe that all of them, together, lived in these dorms. While the nobles did live on a higher and nicer level, they all lived in the dorms, as equals. Now, it was just those of the Black Eagle Strike Force. Everyone else was . . . well, only Goddess knows now. Military barracks, perhaps, or maybe some of them had even returned to their luxurious homes. There were no words to describe how thankful Dorothea was towards Edelgard for giving her a few more years of a warm bed.

On the other hand, Ingrid did not seem pleased with the suggestion. The concern returned, making Dorothea’s heart drop into her stomach. It ached so much to see someone look at her that way, especially Ingrid. These feelings were ones she had locked away long ago, telling herself not to let them out. At least not until the war was over.

“That guy could still be lurking somewhere. I don’t think he’ll try to come back, but . . . it would be much safer if you stayed with me tonight.”

She hated how her hard her heart started to beat. Of course she knew it was just a friendly offer to keep her safe, but being invited to one's room was something typically seen as a sign of intimacy. Heat was making its way to her cheeks, and she faced the other way, trying to avoid eye contact. "Oh, no," she started, "I wouldn't possibly want to bother you."

"It's no bother at all!" Such wonderful innocence. "I don't mind at all, truly. I don't think I would be about to sleep if I didn't know whether you were safe or not."

Curse the Goddess for making Ingrid absolutely irresistible! Even if she had grown through the years of almost endless battling, she was still the same girl at heart. Smiling sincerely, Dorothea nodded, accepting the invitation. "Thank you, my Ingrid. I'll never forget this act of kindness." 

"I-It's nothing, really." Her face was absolutely stunning when brushed with a light blush. Beautiful pale skin, scars unnoticeable unless looked up at close. Everything about her was . . . breathtaking. And Dorothea's heart broke when she knew she couldn't have her.

-

Being approached by one night stands was an often occurrence, if not one that happened every day after. What wasn't typical was them marching into the monastery, fuming and confronting her. It was a scene she didn't want to live through, but here she was, the man from the night prior yelling at her in the dining hall. Dorothea only stood, listening to every word, wiping away the spit that flew from his tongue and onto her face. Everyone around had gone silent, just watching.

She couldn't help but wonder, why wasn't anyone saying anything? Did they think this was merely a lovers' quarrel, not to be interfered with? She couldn't blame them. With how many men she could be spotted with, it only made sense. When the man finally seemed to be calming down, she replied, "Are we done here?"

"You bitch!"

His hand raised, and she closed her eyes, flinching back. But no slap came. No impact, no loud "slap" to echo across the room. Slowly opening her eyes, Dorothea saw he was being held back, a firm grip on his wrist. Once again, Ingrid came to her rescue.

"Do you remember what I said last night?"

If he did, he wasn't able to tell her as such. His back landed against the hardwood floor, and he groaned, wincing in pain. It didn't stop there, Ingrid grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him outside, all eyes now turned on her. Even from inside, there was the obvious sound of fist against flesh, and yells of anger, slowly turning into agony. (Dorothea could swear she heard Caspar cheering off to the side.) Fear swelled within, and she rushed out, expecting the worst.

In spite of their size difference, Ingrid seemed to be having no problem fighting the man back, not a single scratch on her form. He, on the other hand, was bleeding and stumbling about. His strength was obviously outmatched by hers, but he threw another punch, only to have one meet his stomach. Globs of spit were coughed out as he fell to his knees, covering his stomach with his arms as he whimpered. Ingrid's expression was mixed with anger and sadness, bringing the familiar pain to Dorothea.

She took notice of her songstress friend, and offered a smile that wouldn't meet her eyes. "Are you alright?" she asked, attention now fully on Dorothea. The smile could not be returned, only a mere nod to confirm she had not been hurt in the commotion. "Ah, that's good. I'll call over some knights to take care of this one. Not sure why they let him into the monastery, anyway."

The man stood once more, fist raised in a weak attempt. Dorothea's lips opened, ready to shout, but another punch hit him in the face, taking him out for good. The one responsible was Shamir this time, sighing with the work now in her hands. Ingrid, who hadn't noticed, turned and thanked the mercenary.

"I'll take care of it from here. You two go on now."

As always, she treated them like children. Her attitude reminded Dorothea of the professor. Stoic, yet ready to take charge. What was the life of constantly fight like? Five years still hadn't taught her. An arm wrapped around her waist, and she took Ingrid's hand, giving it a squeeze to reassure that she was fine. They left the unconscious man to Shamir, taking their leave.

The bench was always a nice place to release stress. Staring out at the glimmering water, watching fish jump before returning to their home, the calming sound of the shallow waves. Sure, the occasional fishing of Alois broke the illusion, but with Ingrid by her side, she didn't mind too much. Their hands were still intertwined, the knight never questioning it. Even do, Dorothea longed to touch the skin beneath the glove.

"I hope you don't mind me asking . . ."

Dorothea never longed to hear this conversation, but she figured it was inevitable. After being found the night prior, and the fight from only minutes ago (or had more time passed? she lost track), Ingrid would naturally be curious. There was no hiding her nature of playing around. This was different, though. 

"Are you okay? As in, with your guy situation. I don't mean to intrude on your personal life, but I'm worried."

If anyone understood pushy, aggressive men, it was Ingrid. So many suitors, greased up and always in her space. Not to mention the suitor they fought off all those years ago. Oh, what a joyful memory. Looking past the hot setting they had to fight through, and how horrific that man was to his core, they had fun. She still had the ring Ingrid had given her . . . the professor insisted she take it back. How considerate, and it was now a treasured possession.

Back to the topic at hand.

"Everything is fine, my dear Ingrid. You know how men are. Always a rowdy bunch."

"Yes, I'm aware, but that was uncalled for. Not only his actions today, but last night as well. Is this . . . a first? Or are there more?"

When their eyes met, Dorothea had to fight the urge to look away. If she did, Ingrid would know. Know that he wasn't there first one to act in such a crude way. But the words couldn't reach her lips. She couldn't find the right way to tell the truth, to admit to her previous experiences. It was unfair to say all men behaved as such, as they definitely did not. Some were gentle. And some were not.

She realised her silence had lingered on for too long, and shook her head. "There's no need to worry, dear," she assured. "It's not common for them to act out. I'll be fine."

"But it's not normal, Dorothea!" Ingrid covered her mouth with her free hand, recoiling from her volume. She continued, albeit a bit quieter. "It's not normal to just accept that. You've always been a strong woman who wouldn't let anyone take control of her. I . . . I know things have been rough, but you mustn't give in. Please, don't let them harm you." 

Words like that wouldn't be taken lightly. Dorothea wondered if her grip was unbearable, but if it was, Ingrid was remaining silent. No tears made their way to her eyes, but she felt like she was screaming inside. Smiling genuinely, she nodded, letting the advice sink in. "If you insist, I'll do better. For you."

For Ingrid.

-

"What should I do with this?"

"Ah, that — just place them anywhere. I'll clean it up later."

With a shrug, he moved the clothes to the chair and the books to the desk. She glanced at the items, remembering how tidy she tried keeping her room during her school days. She went through the trouble of asking others to help her, everything in place and looking pristine. But now, it was a sad mess. Some say a room reflects its owner. That didn't seem too far off.

Her dress joined the rest of the clothing on the floor, and she moved in, her body pressing against his. In the dim candlelight, his eyes of green looked so beautiful. Blonde bangs were pushed aside by her slender fingers, and their lips met, their positions shifting as he lay her back against the mattress.

It was rare for her to leave any trace of light flickering other than that of the inevitable moon, but tonight was different. This man, despite it being their first time meeting, made her feel rather comfortable. His features were much less masculine than the others before, but there was still enough muscle to tell he wasn't some random noble. A feminine face, and fingers almost as slim as her own. There were callouses along them, presumably from training, or maybe even farming. She didn't ask for the details.

Though, as he penetrated her, even his kind eyes couldn't convince her that this was more than a simple one night stand. Just the same as the others, a routine she wasn't able to break. She hadn't even noticed the tears falling until she felt him wiping them away, his slow thrusts coming to a halt. His face, riddled with concern, was just like  _ hers _ .

"Are you alright? Do you need me to stop?"

Her heart was breaking. She reached up, placing her hand stop his, trying her best to smile. All she could muster was a twitch of her lips, and a slight shake of her head.

"No, it's okay. Keep going."

-

Evening had come, and was quickly fleeting, the sun escaping over the horizon. Most were on their way to their respective rooms, saying their "goodnights" and whatever else to end the day. Dorothea was standing on the dock, eyes of emerald glued to the sun. It was a beautiful sight, one of the few things she could continue to enjoy before retiring to her own abode. Something was off, though. Being alone by the pond didn't feel right. 

How long had it been since Ingrid repaired her door? A few weeks, at the very least. The day before, they were lead into battle, fighting off Kingdom soldiers that tried to infiltrate with the help of the Church. Another futile attempt. But the pained look across Ingrid's face when all was said and done, it made sense that she needed time alone.

Fortunately, no one from the academy had made an appearance yet. No blood of the closest friends were on her hands. Even so, Dorothea knew just slaying those she once stood beside must've been taking a toll on Ingrid. She couldn't imagine facing Edelgard, nor anyone else from the Black Eagle house. As for the rest of the Kingdom soldiers, was it selfish to say she didn't feel the same? Perhaps. But she wasn't connected to the people she didn't bother to know.

No use dwelling on it. This was simply how things were. Ah, she needed to get out of the habit of thinking that way. It was what led her to a pained Ingrid some time ago. Since then, the nightly rendezvous had gone by without much noise, any man crossing a boundary thrown out with no second say. It was as if a great burden was lifted, and it was all thanks to Ingrid speaking out about it.

There were still some things that refused to change, though. That insufferable feeling of being used, and the fact that it was second nature to her at this point. In the past,  _ she  _ was in control. And now, any man that took a step into her room was able to easily do as pleased. It wasn’t even about a husband anymore, just the temporary comfort that turned into nothing. Like a hole in her chest, one that nothing could fill.

“Still not ready for bed, Dorothea?”

Dorothea squealed, taking a surprised step back. It was only Ingrid, who seemed to be giggling at the reaction. A frown made its way to Dorothea’s face, and she shook her head, arms crossing over her chest. “Don’t scare me like that! Almost gave me a heart attack,” the songstress exaggerated, huffing as she looked away. Ingrid seemed to be wrapping up her laughter, trying to stop as soon as she could. “S-Sorry,” she stammered, “you just looked too cute. I couldn’t help it.”

Well, that was odd. Ingrid, complimenting Dorothea so casually? Sure, in the past, she had said she believed Dorothea was beautiful, stunning, much more of a face than herself. It was only said in a moment where it was deemed appropriate, though, nothing like this. And before, the words that Dorothea just didn’t roll off the tongue as naturally. In this case, it was just Ingrid stating her opinion in the moment. It was . . . nice.

There was still some light out, the sky gradually fading from orange to its dark cover of night, but Dorothea figured that she couldn’t keep waiting. She began to walk past Ingrid, and could hear another apology being mumbled from the knight, presumably thinking she was still hung up about being shook up. Instead of giving a verbal reply, she slipped her fingers into Ingrid’s, tugging her along. Although the first floor of the dormitory was far from luxurious, she was glad they were so close by. To walk all the way up those stairs with a questioning Ingrid might’ve made her regret the decision she had made.

Her door closed, the lock sliding into place. This entire situation was still an absolute mystery to Ingrid, who just awkwardly stood in the center of the room as her hands tightened, then released. There were things she clearly wished to say, to ask, but she was refraining from doing so. Kind and patient, just as a knight is. Gesturing towards the window, Dorothea spoke, nearly in a whisper.

“Ingrid, dear, open the window, if you would.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, Ingrid turned her back to Dorothea, reaching over to the window before pushing against it. With the weather becoming colder, it was quite the task. Dorothea knew this. It was her intention to have Ingrid take a bit more time, allowing her to slip her dress and undergarments off. The moment Ingrid managed to shove the wooden frame up, cold air flooded the room, chilling Dorothea’s skin. Cold, just the way she liked it on nights like this.

“There you go —”

Nearly all of the colour drained from Ingrid’s face, her jaw falling slack as her arms returned to her side. She only gaped for a moment, shutting her own mouth back up and turning her head, making sure she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of Dorothea’s naked form. A blush began to spread across her pale cheeks, and her lips began to move, trying to say something but unable to properly voice them. Not the reaction she was hoping for, but it was something.

“D-Dorothea, what are you —”

“Shh.”

She had already strutted over to Ingrid, now taking one of her hands and beginning to pull the glove off, letting it join the pile of clothes on the floor. The hand was then against her breast, Dorothea guiding Ingrid in this new experience. (Was Ingrid a virgin? If not, she certainly didn’t let it show. But even if she wasn’t, did she have any experience with another woman?) Ingrid didn’t resist, didn’t pull away. She showed no signs of restraint. She just watched her own hand, closely examining as Dorothea made her squeeze her fingers against the flesh.

They were already at the bed. Ingrid was sitting, still in a daze, fingers squeezing and releasing, the action now imbedded in her brain. Dorothea was taking her place on the top, straddling Ingrid’s lap, leaning in to whisper. “Don’t you want to let go?” She asked, her lips dangerously close to Ingrid’s ear. “Just one night of you, me, and the moonlight.” No reply came, just one more squeeze. Then, as if a warrior awakening from the call of a siren, Ingrid lightly shoved Dorothea off, giving her the chance to stand and move towards the door.

With Ingrid’s back turned to her, Dorothea was unable to tell how she was feeling. Though, if she had to guess, it would be disgusted. Of course. Not once had Ingrid implied any sexual attraction towards Dorothea, not even the slightest hint of a crush. She was merely being a good friend, and now, it all backfired on her. How stupid she had been!

“Dorothea.”

Hearing her name from that voice in that tone made her heart stop. Was she still breathing? She wasn’t sure. She just listened.

“This . . . this isn’t how you should handle this. Sleeping so casually like this, with  _ me _ of all people . . . at least be honest with yourself.”

Then, she was gone. It wasn’t like when the men would leave, closing the door in a hurry or a slam when they left out of rage. There was merely the quiet sound of the handle clicking in place. The cold air wasn’t welcomed anymore. And as she took her seat on the bed, staring at her hands, Dorothea wondered why she had wanted to see Ingrid when the sun rose the next morning.

-  
  


"Training again?"

Taking a seat next to Mercedes, Dorothea watched as Ingrid and Felix clashed steel together, not even the night air stopping the sweat from pouring. Her question was directed to Mercedes, who she knew always kept an eye on Ingrid's progress. Coming from the same house, it only made sense that they were close. The feeling of jealousy in her heart could be overlooked.

Mercedes nodded, a soothing tone to her voice as she spoke. "She's been at it almost all day," she informed, her eyes now focused on her fingers, curled up in her lap. "Seems like that's all she does these days. I can't get her to sit and talk about it, but in the past, she did this to distract herself. I suppose it's good that Felix is around."

To distract herself. Only a week had passed since the incident. Dorothea hung her head low, saying nothing more. They hadn't spoken since that night. The words Ingrid said wouldn't leave her mind.

_ "At least be honest with yourself." _

About what, exactly? There were so many things. How what was meant to be temporary comfort turned into a routine she stubbornly refused to break? About how she knew it was wrong to be walked all over, and yet, she still let it happen? Or perhaps, her feelings for Ingrid? They both knew that night wasn't on a whim for the fake comfort Dorothea insisted upon. She just wanted to feel Ingrid.

She wanted Ingrid.

The fighting stopped, and she overheard Felix saying something about stopping for the day. Her head raised, and she was met with Ingrid, who had stripped down to a sleeveless undershirt. Goddess, she was extraordinary to the eyes. Muscles coated in sweat . . . Dorothea had to look away. Ingrid spoke up, but it was to Mercedes.

"You don't have to worry so much about me."

"Nonsense! You must be exhausted."

Glancing up, she witnessed Mercedes damping the blonde girl's forehead with a handkerchief. She wished she was doing that. Standing, she was just going to excuse herself and go. She had no place here. She needed more time to reflect on those words. Time to just think.

"Dorothea."

Every single time, her heart seemed to slow down and drop. She could feel its beat in her throat, and tried to swallow it down. She faced Ingrid, trying to keep herself composed. It was harder than any battle during these five long years. Mustering her best onstage smile, she replied, "Yes?" 

"Could you go wait by the pond? I need to talk to you. I'll be out in a minute, I promise."

It made sense that she was anxious. A week of silence, and suddenly, Ingrid was the one to break it. The brunette couldn't help pacing by the bench, head turning and expecting to see Ingrid. Minutes passed, but they felt like hours. Dorothea eventually took a seat, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. The sun was resting, evening transforming into night. Must they always meet like this?

"Didn't mean to make you wait."

There was no reaction from Dorothea this time. She couldn't bring herself to look Ingrid's way. It was hard, being the vulnerable one. In the past, Ingrid had opened up about how she cleaned the messes Sylvain made and that she didn't have too much experience in the love department. Now, it was turned around, albeit not the exact same. 

Neither said a word as Ingrid took her place on the bench, the lapping of the waves being the remaining sound to fill the air. They let the silence carry on, and oddly, Dorothea found comfort in it. Just having Ingrid at her side was more than enough. Minutes passed, and she decided to speak up.

"Ingrid —"

"Dorothea —"

They both stopped, staring at one another. Trying to talk at the same, eh? Were they reading the minds of one another? A giggle broke out from the brunette, and Ingrid joined, covering her mouth as she did so. Everything about her was magnificent.

"Go on," she insisted. Dorothea nodded, swallowing the lump that had suddenly made its way into her throat. She could do this. Just say what needed to be said, get it over with.

"Ingrid," she started, trying to stay strong, "you told me to be honest with myself. I thought on your words this week. It was agonising, if I'm being honest. I always knew, deep down. Ever since you took your first step in the Black Eagles house, I couldn't take my eyes off of you. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to say anything.” She paused, briefly, sucking a breath in through her teeth. 

“When the war started, I stopped searching for a suitable partner. Finding someone to marry and take care of me was longer a priority. But there was still an uneasy emptiness that I couldn’t rid myself of, no matter how hard I tried. No amount of luxurious gifts, nor nighttime partners could fill that emptiness. And I knew, when my eyes followed you everyday, and when I felt my heart flutter at your words, that I had just been further denying what I knew all these years.”

Another pause. Ingrid hadn’t said a word, didn’t let a single noise slip from herself. She just stared intently, countenance unreadable. It somewhat intimidated Dorothea, made her feel like she was melting into a puddle, but she had to keep going. She couldn’t back down, not when she was already this far in. And so, she didn’t. She kept on. 

“Ingrid Brandl Galatea, I love you.”

With that, the songstress smiled. It wasn’t a feigned one, but rather one of genuine happiness. Almost saying that no matter how Ingrid responded, she would be content with it. A burden that had troubled her for so long was finally lifted, and she could be satisfied with that alone. Her eyes remained locked with Ingrid’s, who was still an absolute mystery in how she was feeling. Not even surprise cascaded her face, just that blank stare.

And then, she smiled back. She reached out, taking Dorothea’s hands in her own, giving them a light squeeze. Fingers intertwined, and Ingrid leaned in, slightly raising herself up from her seat to capture Dorothea’s lips with her own. Dorothea didn’t even bother acting shocked by it, returning the kiss with enthusiasm. When Ingrid pulled herself back after a few seconds, Dorothea missed her lips already, but kept herself in check. She could wait, after all. She already had for five years.

“I won’t let you feel like nothing more than a bag of bones anymore,” Ingrid said, her forehead against Dorothea’s. “Because I love you, Dorothea Arnault. You won’t have to endure it alone. I promise you.”

Her words felt like a proposal, and Dorothea did her very best to hold back her tears. No longer would she have to seek out false comfort. She had all she needed, all that she ever wanted. For not one night, but for every night from here on out, she was spared. She could finally let go.

**Author's Note:**

> hahaha! no proofreading and some ooc moments!  
i apologise  
thank you for reading


End file.
